“Thet’s preezactly what this child means.”
“But how? What reason have you for thinking so?”
“Wal—jest because I think so.”
“Pray explain, Rube!” I said in an appealing tone. I feared that his secretive instincts would get the better of him, and he would delay giving his reasons, out of the pure love of mystification that was inherent in the old fellow’s nature. I was too anxious to be patient; but my appeal proved successful.
“Wal, ’ee see, young fellur, the hoss must ’a crosst hyur jest afore this paraira wur sot afire; an it’s mighty reezunible to s’pose thet whosomediver did the bizness, Injun or no Injun, must ’a been to win’ard o’ hyur. It ur also likely enuf, I reckun, thet the party must ’a seed the hoss; an it ur likely agin thet nobody wa’nt a gwine to see thet hoss, wi’ the gurl stropped down ’long his hump-ribs, ’ithout bein’ kewrious enuf to take arter ’im. Injuns ’ud be safe to go arter ’im, yellin’ like blazes; an arter ’im they’ve gone, an roped ’im, I reckun—thet they’ve done.”
“You think they could have caught him?”
“Sartint. The hoss by then must ’a been dead beat—thet ur, unless he’s got the divvel in ’im; an by Geehorum! I gin to surspect— Gehu—Gehosophat! jest as I said; lookee, thur—thur!”
“What is it?” I inquired, seeing the speaker suddenly halt and point to the ground, upon which his eyes also were fixed. “What is it, Rube? I can perceive nothing strange.”
“Don’t ’ee see ’em hoss-tracks?—thur!—thick as sheep-feet—hundreds o’ ’em!”
I certainly noticed some slight hollows in the surface, nearly levelled up by the black ashes. I should not have known them to be horse-tracks.